


Años de soledad

by Ser_Renity



Category: Bleach
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Starrk POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Renity/pseuds/Ser_Renity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shinigami seemed to consume the Sexta's every waking thought; what Starrk first thought of as kind of strange soon became endearing, in a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Años de soledad

**Author's Note:**

> This makes no sense canon-wise, I realize.  
> But I am sitting here crying my eyes out about Coyote Starrk and apparently I needed an outlet.

Starrk considered himself a very patient individual. This assessment was based on several long decades of observation and his natural, perpetual feeling of boredom. Sometimes it wasn't about wanting to listen to a person; sometimes he was simply too lazy to tell them to leave. However, as it were, there existed a matter that aggravated even him and his even temper.

 

* * *

 

 

It all started when Aizen decided to add another member to their merry bunch; the sixth.

  
Starrk watched on as the Sexta was introduced into their ranks. The small Arrancar was wounded and barely managed to stand on its feet as Aizen coaxed it into the halls of Las Noches with kind words and promises of power.

  
Starrk saw the unknown fire burning in the small Hollow's eyes then; he would never forget how Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez came to be. The young Espada was driven by a force he himself had not come to know, not with the world resting in the palm of his hand.

The Sexta had never experienced this sort of luxury; and it showed in his every move, the daily struggle, the desperate climb to strength and survival by winning battles against all odds.

  
Starrk saw then, for the first time, how desperate a Hollow could get and how futile the struggle was in the end.

  
Grimmjow was passionate and vibrant and didn't know how to give up, a force that wanted to be acknowledged and feared. Starrk frowned whenever the young Espada grinned and smiled as he returned to their white table. It was terrifying to watch; the Sexta did not know what was good for him, had never learned how to relent or go easy on himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Harribel sometimes came to speak to him, and so did Barragan; all of them sought out his company at some point and listened to whatever advice came to his mind. Only Ulquiorra and Aizen himself stayed away; it was on a day like any other that Grimmjow did.

 

* * *

 

 

"Oy, Primera!"

  
Starrk cracked open his eyes and suppressed the urge to sigh. It was always an effort to wake up and face whoever needed his help; but Lilynette would kick him if he refused, simply because it might be something horrible going on.

  
"Yes?" he asked as his eyes focused on his visitor.

  
The second Grimmjow stepped through the door Starrk knew the fierce Hollow would mean trouble. Even as he realized he held no feelings of resentment for the Sexta he could feel that he would soon regret answering his call.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Grimmjow wanted to ask about Aizen's intentions; standard procedures and the occasional rude comment, but nothing to be concerned about.

  
The second time, however, was different.

 

* * *

 

 

Starrk ran across Grimmjow right after he returned from the human world. The Sexta was mumbling and cursing under his breath as he stalked through Las Noches, but that was not what made Starrk stop and listen to the story that would set in motion what would consume so much of his time and energy.

  
What caused him to halt immediately was the noises Grimmjow couldn't hide, the occasional growl deep in his throat and the barely audible whimpers as he pressed his palm against the stump right below his left shoulder.

  
The noises were quiet, inaudible for everyone outside of the wing. However, to Starrk they echoed like gunshots and he stopped dead in his tracks as though fearing the punishment.

  
"What are you looking at, asshole?" Grimmjow howled and grit his teeth like an angry dog.

  
Starrk did not reply, mildly put off by the lack of manners, but also the implication of the wound. There had been a meeting before. Aizen could not have...?

  
His thoughts were interrupted as the Sexta ran up to him with long, imbalanced strides and grabbed him by the collar. It was a strange situation; their difference in power was obvious and well-known, yet Grimmjow didn't seem to hesitate to antagonize him.

  
"Don't fucking look at me like that," he hissed and shook Starrk like a disobedient puppy, "Reminds me of that fucking shinigami bastard."

  
The Primera removed the clawed hand from his collar and brushed imaginary dirt off his shoulders.

  
"If you have a story to tell, go ahead," he offered. A proposal he would learn to regret.

 

* * *

 

 

From that point onward Grimmjow was a steady guest in his wing of Las Noches; and with him came a constant stream of complaints, rants and endless talks of the one called Kurosaki.

  
The shinigami seemed to consume the Sexta's every waking thought; what Starrk first thought of as kind of strange soon became endearing, in a way.

  
"That damn Ulquiorra stopped me before I could trash that blond brat. He interrupted my fucking fight, I was about to tear that shinigami bastard apart."

  
"Hm," Starrk commented after hearing the story for the third time.

  
"Exactly! What a fucking idiot, asking me about my arm. Like he gives two shits. Fucking humans and their fucking fake compassion."

  
"Right."

  
"And what the fuck was up with that mask? Is that idiot going Hollow now? He'd be torn apart in a day here. Fucking orange hair is like a signal flare."

  
"I see."

  
"And that stupid friend of his, all high and mighty and always so fucking eager to save and be saved by him, fucking idiot just wants his attention."

  
Starrk tsked and watched on as Grimmjow kept pacing. The choice of words did not please the Primera, but he knew better than to interrupt now. This could go on for a while and it was better to just let the young Espada rant until he was exhausted.

  
Sometimes he wanted to spar instead; despite their difference in ability that was almost more exhausting than having to listen for hours. Starrk barely ever let Grimmjow win, enjoying the thought of putting the wild Espada in his place.

 

* * *

 

 

Starrk was happy as the human healer restored the Sexta's arm. He had never seen such a surprised and humbled expression on the face that was usually twisted into either a manic grin or a scowl. The Primera felt protective, close to what he felt for Lilynette.

It was strange, he mused, but only to be expected after spending so much time together. He doubted it meant anything to Grimmjow, though.

 

* * *

 

 

The fourteenth time they spoke was different once more.

  
Starrk had seen it coming; had dreaded the moment he walked out of Aizen's meeting and saw Grimmjow doubled over in the corridor, his forehead pressed against the cool wall while his entire body was wrecked by shivers.

  
The story he told that day was one that didn't dare to involve Kurosaki, as though he could be tainted by the poisonous words.

  
Starrk had known about Aizen for a while, about his tricks and methods to keep the rebellious in line.

  
"Fear and humiliation," Grimmjow explained as he recovered from being dominated by their shinigami leader's reiatsu; in front of everyone, for all their eyes to see.

  
"How long has this been going on?" Starrk asked, his eyes never leaving the scars littered across the Sexta's body, everywhere no one could see.

  
"A while," he replied, "Maybe two."

  
Starrk didn't smile, didn't frown. He watched and wondered and considered intervening. In the end, all he could do was listen.

 

* * *

 

 

When Grimmjow returned from his frantic hunt to the fields of Hueco Mundo Starrk knew it would be the last time they saw each other.

  
The Sexta was injured, horribly so, and barely managed to crawl back into Las Noches. His eyes were haunted and his mouth no longer grinning. Something about him seemed more serious and less desperate in his anger, as if the fire in his eyes burned with a kinder flame.

  
"They're coming," he told Starrk and panted through punctured lungs, "Save yourself."

  
The Primera put a hand on the young Espada's shoulder and smiled, for the first time in forever.

  
"Go find that shinigami of yours," he said and watched Grimmjow's eyes widen comically, "Get out of here. You don't owe Aizen anything."

 

* * *

 

 

Starrk considered himself a very patient individual. This assessment was based on several long decades of observation and his natural, perpetual feeling of boredom.

  
As he died, he wondered if Espada were capable of feeling remorse or worry for another; but he knew in that moment and hated knowing more than anything else.

  
Starrk knew he had never been alone; and he knew that it wasn't just laziness that kept him. Sometimes he cared; other times he cared too much.

  
He closed his eyes and bled out on the bleak surface of Karakura town’s fake concrete. After a few moments of silence Coyote Starrk was no more.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

_You always thought of the Primera as a coward, someone bowing to Aizen only because that seemed like the thing to do. You could never do that- whenever you were assaulted and pushed down you envied Starrk for his spinelessness._

  
_In the end he made you care, though, with his patient expression and his willingness to endure your endless hours of talking. Now you knew he was dead, buried somewhere far from you and your chest felt tight at the thought._

  
_You had Ichigo by your side, though, this time with no threat present and just the milky light of the moon shining down on you._

  
_"I'm sorry," he told you and pressed closer to your side, "If they had a choice-"_

  
_"I get it," you said quietly, your fingers close to the scars on your shoulder blades where Aizen left the tally marks of your failures, "If I didn't I wouldn't be here, you know."_

  
_Ichigo Kurosaki smiled and pulled you close. You held onto him like he was your lifeline; and maybe he was._

  
_You never closed your eyes even well after he fell asleep. There was a buzzing in your ears and sandpaper in your throat and whenever you swallowed you felt suffocated._

  
_"Sleep," he told you._

  
_You obeyed._

 

* * *

 


End file.
